Your Blogging Staff

Contributing to this blog:
- "Dave" is Dave Barry, who is a humor columnist and presidential contender.
- "judi" is Judi Smith, who is Dave's Research Department, as well as being interested in men.
- "Walter" is Walter, a bone from the penis of a walrus.

Poor journalism again... no recipes, nothing that tells us where to order a few pounds, no taste tests, nothing on the competitive snake-eating contests! Terribly incompetent. It really makes me MAD! I believe Dave will HAVE to go next year and give us a proper report. Anyone else in favor of sending him?

You know what's creepy, though? As many rattlesnakes as they round up, I still managed to come face-to-face with ONE TOO MANY out in the pasture... *SHUDDER-SHUDDER-PARALYZED-HEEBIE-JEEBIES* I can't imagine what it'd be like without the roundup. *queasy* However, I never attended one.

fivver - don't bother hidin', she'll either track ya down just the same, or she'll wait, ever so patiently, not unlike a hawk watchin' a praire dog hole, cuz she knows, sooner or later, you'll pop your head out of the hole, just for a quck look around, just to see if it's safe, and just about when you've decided it is, indeed safe - WHAM

Hi all. It's been a while since I've monitored this blog. And then when I do, one of the first items has personal relevence to my own bad self. I, for one glorious year, was a Sweetwater Jaycee. No kiddin'. What I remember most about the Roundup is the overwhelming smell of snake-urine when you enter the rodeo arena where the event is held. That and the reception area with gratis free-flowing alcohol behind the scenes. What they don't tell you when you join the Jaycees is that at your first Roundup, after all of the snake-groupies have gone home, you get initiated. That involves having to grab a big-ol rattlesnake and milk it for venom. The good news is that you're closely supervised by a master snake wrangler. That comforted me until I later heard that at least one master snake wrangler is bitten during most Roundups.
As for what they do with the snakes, that part is actually kind of interesting. Almost everything is used. First, the snakes are milked for venom, which I believe is used for cancer research. Then, they are relieved of their heads on a chopping block. Being one of the choppers is always one of the honors bestowed upon Miss Snake Charmer. They are then skinned (the snakes, not Miss Snake Charmer), and the skins sold to whomever it is that buys snake skins, like maybe boot makers. The (ahem) "meat" is sold to whomever it is that buys snake meat, except for a small percentage of it that is fried up and served on site. Brace yourself: it tastes a little like chicken and a lot like ass. It was way, way too bony for my tastes, too.

Anyway, a sex scandal rocked the Jaycees a few months after my first Roundup, and I decided not to renew my membership. Starting the next year, I always participated in the accompanying bar-b-que cook-off rather than the Roundup itself - same amount of beverage consumption but with better food and whole lot less snake-urine.

Wow, big confession. I was about to deride Moe for not knowing that snake venom is used as an antivenin for administration in snake bite cases. Then I decided to look it up and darned if they aren't showing promising developments in anti-cancer research using snake venom! A tip o' the hat and my respect, Moe!

No, the sex scandal did not involve Miss Snake Charmer. As I recall, Miss Snake Charmer was generally a somewhat homely 15-year-old daughter or granddaughter of someone on the SweetTater (as the town affectionately became known to those of us transplanted city folk) Chamber of Commerce. To explain the sex scandal I must first provide some background information: the Jaycee's meeting hall at that time consisted of a lectern, about 40 folding chairs, and a refrigerator with a beer tap through the door. That sweet, sweet Roundup money would keep us in kegs easily through the year. The business part of the meetings generally took about 15 minutes and the post-meeting party took about 4 to 4 1/2 hours. Apparently at one of the post-meeting parties, the fiancee of a visiting Jaycee from another town got down on her knees and payed homage to the Grand Poobah (or whatever the position was called) of the SweetTater chapter - in front of a large group of people. Not sure if that is exactly how it went down (har!) because I missed that particular meeting, but that is the version that quickly spread through the small town. Of course that incident led to a complete shake-up in the organization's leadership and, much more alarmingly, permanent removal of the kegerator. I was glad that I was able to claim that I quit because I did not want to be associated with an organization of such questionable values, but the real reason was, of course, the aforementioned removal of the kegerator.